Imbalance
by Figures
Summary: There's only so much you can do in a Vault without having to make your own fun.
1. Invasion

Abigail is anal with her shit. She makes copies of everything, she labels anything she touches, and she changes her password literally every week. Luckily, she's also forgetful, and writes little notes to remind herself.

And I take full advantage.

But they're fuckin' everywhere, so here I am in her room looking like a tool sorting through the shit on her desk. They're all so damn dull too. Birthdays, work appointments… and finally, one that looks remotely like a password. JJAb3wocKY.

Her computer buzzes and the screen fills up.

* * *

_Vault 101 Personal Terminal._

_-I'll know if you've been on here.-_

_Personal Entries_

_Opinions_

_Assignments_

_Notes_

_Boooooring Wooooork Thiiiiings_

* * *

Of course, this isn't the first time I've been on here. I skip straight to her diary.

* * *

_Entry 466_

_Medical Nurse Abigail was on duty again. Not that I mind. I understand more about medicine that I do about maintenance. But it's not okay when I have to be polite to Wally Mack. He damn well knew I had to be too. But it'll only be me that gets reprimanded for cussing, so, as usual, I had to let it slide. Though I suppose I should be thankful, it was only for five minutes.  
But poor Dad, he had to look the bastard over. And that'll be me someday. Yaaaay.  
I'll give Wally some ipecac. Tell him it'll grow his tiny penis or some shit._

_Entry 467_

_I went down to my gun range with Amata. She's still not sold on it. She's just constantly waving me off, saying she'll never need to use a gun.  
This is not true. And I've told her this over and over, I'm like a damn record at this point.  
Sure, nothing ever happens in the Vault, but shooting is relaxing. It's a stress release and she knows she can do with less of that. It only gets better if I imagine that the targets are the Tunnel Snakes._

* * *

It's just an endless folder of nothing new. Nearly everyone hated Wally, not like it mattered to him, and Amata couldn't hurt a fly or shoot a target if her life depended on it. And Abby's little rabbit hole ain't secret either. I found it years ago. I've even used her gun a couple of times.

She's just babbling about the same old shit on here. This shitty old computer is supposed to be her mind and there's nothing new. And not even any mention of me. Surely I, as the bane of her pitiful existence, deserve a mention?  
So I backtrack to the main screen and click 'Opinions'. It sounds worthwhile.

* * *

_Vault 101 Personal Terminal._

_-I'll know if you've been on here.-_

_Opinions_

_Nursing Job_

_Wally Mack_

_Butch DeLoria_

_Partners_

_Overseer_

_Freaking Tests_

* * *

Bingo.

* * *

_Vault 101 Personal Terminal._

_-I'll know if you've been on here.-_

_Opinions_

_Butch DeLoria_

_Jackass._

* * *

Oh, Abby. My feelings.  
Now I'm staring at the screen. There's just nothing here. What does it take to get into her head? To get a reaction? I've done everything short of getting my toothpick and-

"Butch."

Fuck if my heart didn't give out for that one second. I don't let it show though. I slowly slide off the seat to face Abigail, steaming in the doorway. How the fuck did I forget to close the door?  
She's pissed, that's for sure. But maybe a charming smirk will ease the feeling of violation.

"You were on there?" she points. Her frown is just plain ugly.

I roll my eyes. "Kinda obvious that I was."

Abigail sighs, as expected. "What did you read?"

"Enough." I say. It's a broad answer. Make her guess, and make her squirm.

Her eyebrows twitches. I only barely notice. She hums, crossing her arms. "Enough?"

"Enough." I confirm. Just drop the fuckin' subject already. What does it take to make her do something? She hums again, and steps forward. I step back and hit the wall, because I'm an idiot and I let her corner me. I frown to let her know. You do not put Butch-man in a corner.

"How'd you even…?" she leads on, staring. She has a violent stare.

I laugh in her face. I pick up a bunch of her notes and wave them in the air, "Hello, Miss Forget-Me-Not?"

"Oh for!" she sighs (again), spinning on her heel. And she stands there, searching for something. It's kinda hard to see in the room, I didn't turn on the lights. Yeah, I may have forgotten the door, but what kinda sneak would I be if I went around turning lights on?  
She finally finds her old baseball bat, and swings it around before facing me again. I switch on my snake smile.

"Abby, babe. You look gorgeous today. I said that earlier, yeah?"  
The bat's interesting, sure. But it isn't like she's gonna use it. So I try and charm her, but she clearly ain't buying my shit. It's worked for both Christie and Susie, you can hear their panties drop a mile away, but Abby is stubborn. And she may be stubborn but I know she's thought about it. She's even dissed my 'brazen' charm on her shitty computer.

"Hah, tell me something I don't know." And she fuckin' stabs at me with the bat, just missing my chin. I almost laugh. She obviously thinks she's witty. I swat the bat out of the way. She ain't using it and it's just blocking my view. I raise my eyebrow, and she just sighs. More fucking sighs.

Resting the bat's tip to the ground, with one hand on the handle and the other on her hip, she asks me "Why won't you just leave me alone?"  
She's starting to sound like Amata. I shrug.

She slams the bat onto the ground and kicks it away. "Fucking damn it, Butch!" she groans. Finally! "How many times do you have to do this? Why do you constantly _invade_? Why do you even _bother_? You know what's on my computer, you know pretty much everything. Why can't you just piss off?"

This is what I came here for. Distress, anger, reaction. Her knuckles are glowing white, and the dark of the room made her eyes look wild. She's been like this only once before.

"I find you interesting."  
I mean, it isn't _not_ true. But the main purpose of this invasion is to make her _do_ something interesting, and _be_ interesting while doing it.  
"Ah, the Tunnel Snake's way to seduce a girl: be an absolute creep!" she quips, "I'm sure that works for the floozies, but if you haven't noticed, it's not working here."  
Ouch. "Hey, I didn't say anything about seduction. But if that's what you want…"  
Then she wails "Oh, will you just leave?"  
And I sneer, teeth and everything. "What if I don't?"  
She just stands there, stuttering like an idiot with her face bright red. When will she _do something_? Fuckin' _anything_? She's so close…

"Ya know, we didn't settle what we started before the G.O.A.T."  
Abigail smiles. "There's nothing to settle, asshole. I won then, and I'll win now."

And she fuckin' sucker punches me!

_This_ is what I want. Call me fucked up, I don't care. I get the frustrated, passive sighs all the time and that shit is old and tired. You see, the Vault is the epitome of consistency and boredom. And sometime we just need something a little different to happen in this shit hole. I need to throw the balance. I need to fuck with the system or we're gonna die of stagnation.

And her eyes are fuckin' crazy. She busted my lip, course she's proud of it. Abigail isn't afraid to fight me, she's just so stubborn that I need to rile her up a little. I raise my hand to swipe at my lip. She drew blood, damn it. So I grab at her right hand and go to say 'Good shot', but she fuckin' jabs me with her left.

Ya know, 'Stale Consistency' is pretty much the fuckin' tag line of the Vault. 'Stale Consistency' is me arguing with Vault Security for the hell of it. 'Stale Consistency' is me fuckin' Susie or Christie because there ain't anyone else to do. 'Stale Consistency' is the banal life of Butch.

And Abigail is the wrench in the works. No one's bothered with her. Except the Overseer for what I'm sure is a fuckin' perverted reason. Despite being in here all this damn time she's still… new. If that makes sense. I do know a couple of things, though. I know she's smart, but she's a smartass. I know she's annoying, but it's tolerable. And she's got a spine, that's for sure.

So I knee Abigail in the stomach. There's no need to go soft, she can take it. She gasps and doubles over, stumbling back to distance herself. She's carrying on, tryin' to breathe so I take my time to waltz into the centre of the room. And she realises what I'm doing so she gets herself into a defensive stance. I brace myself.

See, this is the great part about fighting Abigail. I have no fuckin' clue what's going to happen next. I don't know what to expect, and I've only fought her like, once before. Even fighting gets boring when you know exactly what your victim's gonna do. I know exactly how Wally fights, he's a fuckin' brick. Paul skitters around like a damn radroach. Freddie just cowers in a corner like the fuckin' bitch he is. Predictable and so utterly consistent.

And I can't help but admire what she does next. She uses her leg to reach behind her and kicks the baseball bat out the room, making a huge racket. I'm distracted for the slightest second and she runs full speed into me, elbow first. Look, she ain't the lightest girl in the Vault, and fuck if I didn't feel it. She slams me into the ground, and her hair is just everywhere so I'm spluttering as she tries to jump back up.

I know the expression 'red hot fury' had to come from somewhere, but it never clicked for me until I was feeling heat practically pouring off her and seeing her flushed cheeks. Sure, I'm probably looking the same way right now, but it's satisfying just to see her so engaged.

Abby scrambles up, trying to pin me down but I'm able to shove her off easily. She tries crawling away but I dive to squash her, knocking the wind out of her and leaving me free to show her how to pin someone down _successfully_. I lean my shins on her thighs and held her by the wrists. It was a pretty provocative position, and she knew it.

So I giggle. Yeah I fuckin' giggle. She didn't hear, thankfully. She was too distracted tryin' to breathe again and pull out of my grasp. Honestly it just made to moment sweeter.

"Aw, don't be like that!" I tutted, leaning in. Her stare is like a fuckin' laser. "I can make the boo boos better, Nosebleed." She turns away, and I lean in closer to whisper in her ear "Let's be lovers, not fighters."

She turns looks at me. And she bites my nose.

"Fuck!" I reel backwards, grasping my nose, there's blood! And stupidly I left her arm free so she's tryin' to rip my hair out. It feels like my nose is going to rip off too.  
"Really? You fuckin' bite my face and _then_ you go for my hair?"

She giggles maniacally, obviously happy with herself. So I grab thick clumps of her hair, see how she likes it! I pull back, cutting her laughter and now because I've let her hands free, she slaps me, getting my eye.

Fuckin' Abby.

So I recoil, what else do you do when someone slaps you so hard you start tearing up? And I realise that I'm a jackass because she now has enough leverage to shove me off. And she shoves me _hard_. I go backwards and _just_ miss cracking my head on the bedframe. My legs are all twisted and she's not helping by stomping all over them.

"My turn!" she huffs, fuckin' dropping onto me. Now I'm the one lookin' like a fish tryin' to breathe.  
"How'd you get even fatter?" I cough. Yeah, it's a cheap insult but do I really care right now? I whack at her chest, tryin' to shake her clammy hands off, but she's holding on like she's on a mechanical bull. She chokes as I got a hand free anyway and got her in the mouth. I wrestle the other hand away as she spits blood on my jacket. Fuck, when did it get torn?

And then, we hear the familiar, dreary phrase that signals the end of all fun and excitement down here.

"I am Vault Security, stop what you are doing immediately!"

I sigh. Back to stale consistency.


	2. Bastard Balls

It's not like I'm doing anything wrong. I just so happen to be standing here, is all. And despite what the Overseer thinks, I do tire from being destructive all the time. But if Abigail's eyes were daggers I'd be dead.

"Why are you here?" she sighs. Always with the fucking sighing.

So I take a moment to look around, before shooting an eyebrow up. "Isn't it obvious?"

She grows stiffer. It's a visible process. Her breaths become deeper, her shoulders square off and she stands up straighter. She's the same way around the Overseer; so I dunno what's really going through her head. Is this reaction out of fear, is it some kind of weird respect? Maybe it's a brave face? See, this is the shit I came down here to try and find out.

And 'Down Here' is Abby's Gun Range. It's supposed to be her private little rabbit hole, but you shouldn't underestimate what a snake can slither into. And Abby comes down here every Wednesday night at ten. Even in her attempts to be rebellious she stuck to the Vault's policy of consistency.

"Look, I'm not doing anything." I break the silence. She looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Do you remember last time?" she warns. I laugh, of course I do!

"Yeah, that was fun, wasn't it?" I lick my lips. Still pretty tender after being busted. "All I want to do is chill down here, Abby." I insist.

She fuckin' snorts at me. "And why should I trust you? Tunnel Snakes aren't known for their honesty."

"Hey, I ain't gonna start shit after the nose job you gave me last time."

She starts giggling, absolutely fuckin' proud of herself for her one moment of genius.

"You gonna set up or what?" I ask, turning to the targets. I go and sit on the upturned locker that serves as the end of the range. Tired of standing anyway.

She sighs, again. "May as well." And she starts stomping over to me, hands on her hips and chest puffed. I think she's tryin' to intimidate me in some way, but really she just looks like a cranky five year old.

"Get your ass up."

"What?"

"I keep my gun in here, _you_ should know that since you're so enamoured with my things." I get up, and she pries the locker open. I keep close. "Seriously, Butch, is it impossible for you – What's…?"

I swipe the beer from her hands. "Ah, that's where I left it. Thanks for holding onto it for me." I smirk, and she rolls her eyes around in that pretty little skull of hers.

"Nice." She mutters into the locker. It was pretty hard to hear it. She grabs the gun and her ammo. "Steal it and plant it on me? You're incorrigible." She looks up to me and slams the locker. "I'm basically calling you a predictable asshole, in case that word was too big for you."

"I'm hurt, Abby." Predictable? I pride myself on being anything but.

She shrugs, distracted. "You can take it."

And here's when she zones out. She becomes a robot, automatically tying her hair in a bun. Her fingers fly across that gun, checking and cleaning every individual part until it shines (like the Overseer's head). She's methodical and patient, both of which are annoying to no end.

"If you do try anything," she murmurs, peering down the sights, "You just remember who has the gun."

I sit on the locker again, opening the beer. It tastes like piss. But it doesn't matter. Abigail's fine with me down here, that's the main thing. So I just sip and sit as the BBs ping around the range. The view Abby's giving me isn't so bad either. Why spoil the moment?

* * *

"Hey, what do you even do all day?"

"Huh?"

I tear her from the zone. She even looks a little peeved. "We have 'Vocational Training', right? Well, what do you do?"

Vocational training sucks ass. It's when all the other jerks go to their allocated departments and are told how to do their jobs. The G.O.A.T. went pretty much as expected, Wally's in security, Amata is a supervisor and of fuckin' course Abby goes straight to the clinic.

She furrows her brow. Her eyebrows are crazy bushy, and it looks like a bona fide monobrow like this. "Uh. I just do what Dad does. You know."

"No Abby, I don't" Sometimes she's just thick. "I know you patch us up, but what else happens in the clinic?"

"Okay then… Officially I'm a clinical test subject. So really I should be the subject of medical procedures and drugs and stuff. But all of that junk was figured out ages ago. So I just follow Dad around, helping. Like, I measure the prescriptions and hand him tools." She kicks at the ground. I don't even know why I bother to ask. Sounds as boring as what Paul and Wally do now.

She cocks her head, looking like the pictures of puppies in the textbooks. She's even doe eyed, but that might just be the stupid lighting in the room. "You're… A hairdresser, right?"

Fuckin' hell, woman. Barber! If you're gonna mention it at all at least get it right. I don't say that to her face though. "I'm a barber. There's technically a difference."

"Right," She sits on the locker. Our knees are practically touching, there's only a finite amount of space on this thing. "So… what do you do? I mean, I never see you around and I thought avoiding you would be impossible in this place. And we still cut our own hair."

"It's still impossible to avoid me, I'm here now, Nosebleed." I grab the drink again. "Want some?"

"I'm fine, just answer the question, Numbskull."

Ah, she saw through my not so clever ploy. I take a swig of the pissy beer, and start to explain. Hey, she may as well know. At least she's kinda interested. More than anyone else ever is.

"You guys get mentors, right?" she nods. "Well there hasn't been a hairdresser-"

"Barber."

"Barber. Yes. There hasn't been either in the Vault for at least a hundred years. So the Overseer, with the worst, shit-eating grin I've ever seen, dumps a load of books, rusty scissors and broken combs in one of the defunct rooms and tells me to go to town."

"So… what do you do when we go to our mentors?"

"I read, Abby. At least I ain't ever read those books before, so they're interesting enough. Sometimes I take a break and sharpen the scissors. Sometimes I wander around and grab sustenance." I hold up the beer. "But there's only so much I can do. By now I've read the books so much I've memorised them."

"Literally memorised?" she asks incredulously.

Prepare to be fuckin' astounded, Abby. "Hairstyling: A Dabbler's Guide by Carly Sheehan. Introduction: What is hair? Hair, my friend, is-"

"Shit Butch, you've actually done your homework for once" she laughs. You know, Abby actually has a nice laugh. It's just I barely ever hear it.

I stare into the bottle. Like actually doing my work does me any good. She stops and whistles to break the pause, and I look up like a fuckin' dog. Or is it cats that do that? I can't remember. Anyway, she's staring again, raising her eyebrows.

I guess she expects more. Let me just pour my brain out for you, Abby. One moment while I bend over backwards. "You can guess the rest, Abigail. You still cut your own hair. Everyone still chops their own fuckin' ugly hair. You've been doing it for so many years, getting' on fine. Why do you need someone else to do it?"

She leans back. I know she's thinking, she has a distinct expression for thinking. Her eyebrows are drawn and her lips get thinner.

"Let me be your first patron." She jumps up, grabbing the tin for her ammo. I smile while she bends to pick up all of those little Bastard Balls. She's needed good haircut her whole life.

"Serious?" See, I have to warn her. I don't want her freaking out when I come at her with a comb. I don't think she's ever brushed that mop of hers. "I gotta let you know that it's a secluded room. I'll have sharp objects. You wanna trust me?"

"It's not… _really_ trust. It's more that I know you won't do anything."

Oh, what? "What do you mean by that?"

She looks back to me with the smuggest look I've ever seen her have. And she's had some smug looks. "Finally, something I know about _you_. Butch, I've always hit you first. You _let_ me hit you first." She's saying slowly, like I'm a fuckin' idiot. "You annoy the fuck out of me, provoke me, sure, but you never hit first. It's your twisted way of asking for permission."

What a fuckin' smart ass. Abby finally figures out that the corner piece of the puzzle goes, _shock_, in the corner. Now I'll never hear the end of this. See, Abby likes to pretend to be a behavioural scientist. She sits in her room and ponders on those lonely, Butch-less nights, and has these sudden revelations about whoever caught her attention. Meanwhile everyone else in the Vault has a damn life.

"I get it. You're bored. We _all_ are. Maybe you actually having something to do for a change will be good for our health." Abigail slaps the ammo tin shut. "My stomach still doesn't feel right, you know?"

Oh shit, she's figured out the edge pieces. Fuckin' finally.

I'm happy, she can tell. Maybe it's the beer or something. Shouldn't have drunk it. Tastes like piss. I tell ya, I'm trying not to make it obvious; I have to keep the Tunnel Snake persona alive somehow, don't I? But she's smirking, like she has an advantage. Which she doesn't. Butch-man's always on top. Figuratively and literally.

"Get your ass up."

"Tired of sitting anyway."


	3. Waves

My little slice of heaven, Room 3.201, still looks like shit.

I'm pretty sure it's not even a room. It's small enough to be a supply closet. And despite how long I work at cleaning the damn thing (because what else am I gonna do for eight hours a day?), it never looks better. The air conditioning must be dumping dust in here because I don't see any other possible explanation for it.

It's even harder to find supplies. Every time I need even a fuckin' comb I have to fill out four forms, submit two to Vault Security and two to the bald honcho himself. Then I have two dicks from Security escort me, with batons out and ready, to the main supply storage. Then I have to search through hundreds of years' worth of shit, which usually takes two hours. This is all for a damn comb. The fuckin' hoops I had to jump through to get razors was _absurd_. It's like they don't trust me.

Anyway. I got my shit now after being up to my balls in forms for months. And the Overseer can't call me a slacker anymore. I must be freaking him out, he makes sure to come in every second day after lunch and goes through the benign interrogation process he calls 'small talk.' In fact he should be marching here now. Well, fuck, he's even a bit late.

"DeLoria."

The Overseer dropped the 'master' bit a long time ago. Dropping the title is pretty much him cussing me out.

"Afternoon, Overseer." I nod. I've been employing politeness lately, he still blows it off. I s'pose years of me back chatting has jaded him.

So he steps into the room, scuffing my floor. Fuckin' bastard, I just mopped that damn floor. Scowling, with caterpillar eyebrows, he barks "How has today been?"

Great 'til you rocked up. "It's been fine, quiet as usual. I've just cleaned the room again, and now I'm just sharpening the razors." I hold up the one in my hand, earning a hard glare. "It took a while to get the rust off, but they're good tools once you fix them up."

He doesn't give a single fuck. No matter what he asks it's just a buffer until he gets to what he actually wants. So what is it this time, Overseer? Just a plain old 'don't be trouble'? Maybe you want a shave?

"That's all well and good, DeLoria," Bullshit it is, just spit it out. "But I must bring to your attention the fact that the cigar lounge is missing one of its settees."

"I don't see how that's relevant to me," I say, patting the stolen settee. Come on, the cigar lounge has five other couches and my room looks ten times better with this settee. It's even got red leather upholstery. Fuckin' perfect.

Oh, and this pisses him _off_. I'm being polite, but I can still fuck with him. "DeLoria, I expect that to be back in the lounge by tomorrow. Do you understand?"

Course I do. Still ain't gonna happen. It's not like anyone uses the cigar lounge anymore. "I'm not sure what you mean, Overseer."

"That." He spits, pointing at the settee. "Back by tomorrow. There will be consequences if it is not returned." And he spins to exit, going back to jerkin' off at his desk. Good riddance.

Fuck him, this couch is staying here.

* * *

Ya know, Abigail is the least stealthy person in here. She got the jump on me in her room, yeah, but that was a onetime thing. She stomps everywhere. I can even hear her coming down the hall, clank clank clank. It's even worse when we're doing our mandatory exercise; it's like the poor treadmills are begging for mercy.

Her head pops around the corner, her eyes are jumping everywhere. "Wasn't this a supply closet?"

"That's exactly what I thought." I smirk, standing up. "Welcome to my shithole."

She steps in, lips pursed. She's more relaxed than last time, but it's clear she still doesn't trust me. I understand, of course. I've been the 'Alpha Asshole' for most of our lives.

"It's pretty dusty in here." Here she is, stating the obvious again.

"I know" I roll my eyes, and I gather the tools. She's just staring at the chair.

"It's okay if you want to bail." I say. Obviously I don't want her running off, but it's just courteous to let her have a way out, isn't it?

And there are those wild eyes again. "No, I said I'd do this." Abby grins. "Besides, my hair's a mess."

"It honestly is."

"So," she crosses her arms. "How do this work?"

I smile, and tap the chair. It's a shoddy desk chair from the admin level, but it'll work. "For now, it's the same as how you'd regularly cut it. Sit in the chair and I'll grab a towel."

I turn. I took the time to get one of the nicer towels I found. The Overseer probably gave me all the shitty ones on purpose. I wrap it around her shoulders. She's still stiff. I swear, I do understand, but it's fuckin' annoying. "You can still move around in that, yeah?"

She flips the one finger salute at me. "I can move perfectly."

I return it.

"Now what?"

I've been thinking about this for a _long_ time. It sounds absolutely creepy but without actual hair to cut, I've had a lot of time to wonder about it. I've concluded that Abigail's hair is fuck ugly.

"Now we figure out what style you want." I look straight into her eyes. Small and grey and they may as well be daggers. "Any ideas?"

Her eyebrow shoots up. "I thought, seeing as you're the barber, you had a better idea of what would look good." She smirks, "Despite your haircut."

"If I were you, I wouldn't be insulting the guy who has the sharp instruments. You forget that I can just shave you bald."

"But you won't" She's getting cocky. "You need me. If you wreck my hair, you're never going to get a customer. You'll be bored forever."

And shit, she's right. Fuckin' smartass.

"Anyway, you're right. I have an idea." I say, turning the scissors over in my hands. "I'm also giving you one last chance-"

"Chance is my last name. Literally." She smiles. Puns are pretty much the highest form of comedy to her. I wonder how long she's been sitting on that one. "Seriously, just cut it."

"Alright," I say, gathering her hair in a ponytail. "Don't come back whining if you don't like it."

And snip! I cut off a good foot, foot and a half of the dead mass. I think I even heard a gasp.

"You aren't fooling around" she notes. Damn right I'm not.

"To save your poor little heart, I'm going to explain what I'm doing."

"That'll help."

"Okay, so I've had some spare time to think about it." I start to say, before carting over the portable sink. "And I've realised that your hair sucks."

She pouts. Oh come on, it wasn't a secret.

"Let's think practically, how annoying was it to try and get it all in a hair tie? And how long does it take to brush?"

"It's not _that_ bad…"

"Okay, well what about how it looked?" I gotta be tactful. If Christie and Susie hear I've been steppin' on their bitchy acts, I won't hear the end of it.

"You have a round face. Long hair just isn't suited for round faces. Really, we should aim for chin length, maybe shoulder length. This way, your hair is lighter, and _hopefully_ it will frame your face instead of cutting across it."

"Okay?"

I grimace. "I guess I'm not being clear. I know what I'm doing," _Hopefully_, "I'll still try and explain it, but you'll have to trust the results."

She looks up at me again. "I wouldn't say _trust_, man."

Course she wouldn't. Ouch, Abby.

"Lean back, and rest your neck on the edge of the sink. I'm going to wash your hair. It'll be easier and quicker to cut and style."

I had to go to the showers before Abby came to collect some hot water for this part. She came on time so it's still pretty warm. Using a cup I 'borrowed' from the canteen, I scoop it up and start to rinse her hair. She screws her faces up as I run my hand through her hair, coming across dozens of knots.  
Now, I use some of the shitty 'all-purpose' soap as shampoo, and massage it into her hair. My good old friend Carly Sheehan says that this is need to get rid of all the oil and shit that collects in the hair during the day, making it-

"Will you quit squirming?" I chide as Abby cranes her neck and giggles, swatting my hand back.

"It _tickles_, asshole!" she cries.

"Aw. Tough as nails Abigale," I say, brushing my fingers against her neck again, she snorts and hits my hand away. "Is fuckin' ticklish. Have to remember that for our next fight."

"Whatever!" she huffs, red and probably embarrassed about snorting so loud. She's got a fuckin' ridiculous snort. "Just wash it."

"Quit squirming then, Nosebleed."

* * *

Okay, so cutting her hair shouldn't have taken an hour, but I was tryin' to not fuck up. I don't need her whining to me about how I fucked up her hair 'cause I rushed. But, I think I did a damn fine job. That look of shock and awe (mostly shock) in her eyes is pretty priceless.

"That's different."

Ah, hello Captain Obvious. I missed you ever so much. "Yup."

She looks a little confused, actually. "I didn't know I had waves in my hair."

"See," I grabbed a length of her hair, "Because it was so long before the weight of your hair hid them. Now that it's shorter it's obvious, and your hair's less flat. And look at this," I hold the mirror directly in front of her, "Now it frames your face, even drawing attention to your cheeks and eyes."

Her lips are thin, thinking it over.

You don't even know how hard it was to keep shut for this entire hour. She kept trying to make conversation, but I couldn't talk. Not like I usually do to her anyway. Gotta keep professional, don't we? And now I have to be polite and thank her for '_just giving me a chance'_ and all that bullshit. _Because without her, no one was ever going to come in here and I'd be bored for fuckin' **ever**. _

I put the mirror down and sit on the settee. "Thanks, Abby."

Ugh, forget the look she gave me yesterday. _This_ is the smuggest look I have ever seen. "I didn't know you knew that word, Butch."

"I am full of surprises." I admit graciously. "Bet you didn't know I was that good of a barber. Your hair, Abby? Perfection itself."

Abby rolls her eyes, shrugging the towel off and jumping over the massive ring of hair on the floor. That's gonna be a bitch to clean up. How can one girl have so much hair, anyway?

"I'll be sure to tell people about your modesty as I'm singing praises about the hair cut." She says, brushing off stray bits. "And, thank you too. My hair does look better. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but this is."

"Oh ye of little faith."

She's still standing there, hands swooping through her now awesome hair. I cock an eyebrow before she jolts.

"Shit, it's three? I have to get back to the clinic."

"Don't let me stop you."

She smiles. "Thanks, Butch… See you later."

I nod. She better fuckin' remember to condition that damn mop of hers.


End file.
